


All The Blood We've Shed Before

by Merixcil



Series: Advent Fics 2019 [20]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, The Mandalorian (TV)
Genre: Gen, Imperialism, Life Day (Star Wars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-20
Updated: 2019-12-20
Packaged: 2021-03-06 23:01:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,087
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26496820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merixcil/pseuds/Merixcil
Summary: Mando attempts to navigate a holiday he knows nothing about and doesn't believe in
Relationships: Baby Yoda & The Mandalorian (The Mandalorian TV)
Series: Advent Fics 2019 [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1916806
Kudos: 18





	All The Blood We've Shed Before

**Author's Note:**

> Prompt: [Earth Song by Michael Jackson](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XAi3VTSdTxU)  
> 

The kid barely seems to grow, let alone speak. Din’s still got it in those ugly little robes he found it in and it doesn’t seem to be in a hurry to grow out of them any time soon. When it opens it’s mouth, which is rarely, the sounds that come out are little more than gurgles and grunts. 

They picked up a hitchhiker for a while back, travelling between lost ports in the outer rim. A grandmother who really knew her shit when it came to babies. She said Din ought to talk to the kid, that he had to teach it right from wrong and that it’d always have a safe harbour to come back to, no matter how bad it fucked up. 

She had assumed Din was the kid’s dad, and Din hadn’t corrected her, He also hadn’t told her how poorly suited he was to be the guiding star of anyone’s moral compass, and how his culture required that when he made the ultimate faux par, there would be no one left to let him back into the fold. 

And here they are, stranded in the black on what most Star Charts would call Life Day. The Mandalorians never set much stake by the Wookie holiday, partly because they knew what it felt like to watch the Empire sweep in and try to eradicate or assimilate every aspect of their culture, and mostly because their own festivals were sombre and serious. Remembering wars past, honouring the vows made when one steps into armour never to remove it again. You always knew a married man on Mandalore, because he walked with his head uncovered, having shown it to his wife. 

Perhaps it wasn’t such a great mystery why their population seemed to be dwindling to rapidly. Point being, Din has no idea how you’re supposed to celebrate Life Day, and so it’s just another thing that he can’t teach the kid. 

A small hand comes up to tug at Din’s wrist and he looks down into wide dark eyes, framing the kids preposterously small smile. He’s never been one to describe anything as cute, cute being a dangerous concept that could allow you to form an attachment to something dangerous based entirely on physical appearance. Physical appearance is nothing, the mask is all that matters. But he's pretty sure the kid is the cutest thing he's ever seen all the same. 

Din sighs and stops toying with the idea of finding a port before the end of this cycle. They’re a little low on rations but they’re not about to starve, and much as he feels like an exposed wound coming to a halt in the middle of empty space, it’s technically safer and easier to stay hidden out here. 

“C’mon, kid.” Din scoops up the kid and heads back towards what could charitably be called his quarters. A rough bunk, with space for another to be pulled out of the wall overhead if he ever finds himself travelling with crew or cargo. Not that he’s ever felt the need to employ another living soul to assist in his work. 

Talk to the kid, he’s got to talk to the kid. The kid can’t learn to talk if no one shows him how. It’s Life Day, that’s gotta be somewhere he can start. 

“So, the Wookies believe that their greatest tree, on Kashyyk, birthed them all like fruits in the spring.” Din starts. He can’t even remember if that’s true, he just knows that he doesn’t have any scrolls or datapads meant for children on board and this is the closest thing he can think of to a story. The kid looks up at him, rapt, it’s head cocking curiously to the side. 

So often Din is sure it understands him. But if it understands why won’t it speak? “And they believe that’s why they grow so tall, because they are the children of the trees.”

Din’s been to a lot of places, but never Kashyyyk. It sounds like a fairy tale paradise, occupied by short tempered hell beasts who speak a language so far removed from anything else in the Galaxy that it takes years of immersion to get good at it, even for the smugglers that have been at this so long they practically pick up new languages before they’ve even heard them. Wookies are difficult, it’s hard to think they would let a piece of themselves be stolen like this. 

The rest of the Galaxy doesn’t believe in the great tree, or that they were birthed from its seeds, assuming Din’s remembering that correctly. They just like to take a day to congratulate themselves for how good at loving everyone they are before they go back to their sad little lives, and the people on the core planets return to pretending they know nothing of the horrors their governments wreak on anyone who doesn’t fall under their line. 

Din sighs, pulling the kid closer. “Truth is, they killed as many Wookies at they could get away with, and left them with nothing but a few stories to know themselves by. They left Mandalore uninhabitable and still came back for more and more of what little we could possibly give. They used the Hays system as a weapons testing ground like there aren’t still people living there. We didn’t spring from trees, we are all that’s left of half dead cultures and the fact that we’re still holding on doesn’t mean we’ll hold on forever.”

The kid is still looking up at him. Still smiling. Still silent. 

“I don’t have any idea where you’re from.” Din says. “But I’m willing to bet you’re in the exact same boat. We all are, eventually.”

The Empire is over, or so they say. Yet you travel the outer rim a few times and hear all sorts of stories about organisations springing up to take its place. This Galaxy is wide, but it refuses to find space for everyone. People will never stop dying at the behest of their would be rulers. 

“Sorry, I’m not good at keeping things positive.” Din says. But the kid doesn’t mind. It’s just happy to be held, unaware that it’s in the shittiest position on the shittiest ship it could ever wish for. It’s just happy to be there with him. 

The kid opens it’s mouth and coos. Under the helmet, Din might be smiling. But if he is, that’s his secret to keep. At least for another night longer. 

**Author's Note:**

> This work was originally posted as part of a multi chaptered 'advent fics' fic that I'm trying to split up. If you think you've read it before, you probably have


End file.
